Summary

The well-dressed, hard-faced man who had collected Bruce Wayne from the crime scene answered the door with a narrow-eyed look of surprise that threw all of Jim’s instincts. Instead of a polite greeting, there was a curt, “You’re one of the GCPD detectives.”

“Yes.” Jim forced himself to meet the man’s eyes. They were the most unsettling part of him: the pupils were a strange, deep amber that reminded Jim uncomfortably of a feral animal. “You’re… Alfred Pennyworth, aren’t you? I’m Detective Jim Gordon.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what do you want?” There was a strange note to Alfred’s voice that Jim couldn’t place, that didn’t seem to sound quite… right: it seemed to pull at something under his skin, somewhere subconscious. It made his skin crawl.